


Closer

by KatieHavok



Series: Breeding Lilacs [50]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Arguing, BAMF Tina Goldstein, Casual, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Complicated Relationships, Drug Use, F/M, Multi, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Recreational Drug Use, Sisterly Love, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: Tina snorts before fixing her with a deadpan stare. “Queenie, you have the sort of good looks that make other women mentallyill,” she drawls, “and I’m pretty sure the length of your dress is actually illegal in the state of New York. You look fine.”*Tina attends a college party with her friends.





	Closer

*

The sprawling manor house is lit up from within, the cheerful glow of carved pumpkins illuminating the flagstone path.

“I still think you and Newt should spend the night together,” Queenie says from where she’s strutting beside Tina, her eyes innocently wide. “I think it’d do you both some good to work off that... _frustration_.”

Tina shoves her sister but there’s no heat in it. Laughing, Queenie bounces on the toe of her t-strap heels before straightening her navy dress. She plucks at the pink garters on full, indecent display, and straightens her flesh-tone fishnet stockings before smoothing a hand over her stomach.

“Do I really look alright?” she asks, sounding genuinely nervous.

Tina snorts before fixing her with a deadpan stare. “Queenie, you have the sort of good looks that make other women mentally _ill_ ,” she drawls, “and I’m pretty sure the length of your dress is actually illegal in the state of New York. You look _fine_.”

Queenie’s answering smile is like the sun breaking through clouds. “It’s just that Jakey’s gonna be here,” she explains coyly, “and I want to make sure my intentions are clear.” She reaches for Tina’s lace cravat with a wink, fussily straightening it before tucking her poet’s blouse into her high-waisted trousers. Tina endures her fashing patiently, unwilling to admit how nervous she is about her _own_ plans, and allows Queenie to expertly tousle her pixie cut one final time before accepting a warm hug.

“We’re both gonna knock ‘em dead,” Queenie declares with obvious approval before taking Tina’s hand to pull her along the path, giggling all the while.

*

The sisters part ways soon after leaving their keys and jackets at the door, sharing an air kiss before Queenie makes a b-line to Jacob. The stout culinary student greets her with wide-eyed enthusiasm, and Tina smiles to herself, genuinely glad for them both, before pushing through the smattering of bodies in search of alcohol and her group of friends.

She finds them congregated on the back porch, blueish smoke wreathing their heads as they pass paraphernalia around.

Percival, her sometimes-boyfriend and the oldest of their group, already graduated and gainfully employed despite a recent scandal at his high-powered firm, waves her over before enveloping her in a stiff hug. His assistant Credence hovers beside him, appearing out of place but desperate to fit in as he looks around the circle with wide eyes. Seraphina and Abernathy incline their heads in greeting, the statuesque woman exhaling smoke in a fragrant plume before passing along the glowing roach. Ruby, Cecily, and Sam shift to the left to make room for her, tangled comfortably around each other, and Theseus and his wheelchair are the last in line to Tina’s right, save for…

“Hello, Tina,” Newt’s voice says warmly from just over her shoulder.

Tina starts violently before turning, grateful for small favors when her vodka and cranberry juice remain in her glass.

Newt smiles when she meets his eyes, his reddish hair tied into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck and freckles standing in stark relief to his flushed skin. She glances at him quickly to take in his mustard yellow sweater vest, white button-up, brown bow tie (a _bowtie_ , of all things; she can’t help but be endeared) and his favorite brown blazer and trousers before sighing. It’s a color combination that shouldn’t work on him, especially with his hair and eye color, but irritatingly, he somehow manages to pull it off.

Newt’s eyes, molten jade in the low light, continue to smile down at her as she gapes until Percival hisses from behind her. “The polite thing to do is to _return his greeting_ , Goldstein.”

She hauls her elbow viciously into his side without breaking Newt’s gaze, hardly aware of it when Percival grunts and bends double in pain. Even the raucous laughter and jeering cries of their friends isn’t enough to penetrate her awed focus, at least until Newt shakes his head briskly and goes to her side, his warm hand settling lightly in the small of her back.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he says in a low, intimate voice, ducking his chin to speak directly into her ear.

“Yes,” Tina squeaks through a suddenly constricted throat. “I’m here.”

Newt hums, and Tina could swear she feels the lightest brush of his lips before he straightens. Percival eyes her narrowly before asking after her studies, and she turns to him with a grateful smile, hyper-aware of Newt’s proximity as a bong is added to their rounds. She inhales a lungful of whatever comes her way, grateful for the chemical calmness, and is telling Seraphina about her newly-landed internship with the Department of Child Welfare when Percy declares he needs a shotgun.

“A what?” Tina asks, momentarily nonplussed.

“A shotgun,” Newt repeats softly. “A...a shotty, I think is what you call them here? Something like that. Here.” He takes a deep hit off the blunt before flipping and pinching it between his lips, the burning cherry floating in his mouth.

A quick step across the circle to Percival sees the other man cupping his hands around their mouths, murmuring a quiet but sharp, “Don’t you _dare_ try to kiss me, Scamander,” before sucking the streamers of smoke from Newt’s nose and mouth when he exhales. Percival’s lungs hitch as he holds it in, inscrutable, glassy eyes fixed on Newt’s face.

Newt returns to Tina’s side while tossing a cheerful, “You needn’t worry about me kissing you because you couldn’t _handle_ me, Percival,” and flips the joint, passing it to Seraphina before eagerly accepting the bong.

“Nah, it’s because you’d like it too much,” Percival shoots back in a strangled voice. Newt shakes his head with a toothy smile, chest puffed out before releasing his lungful in a great, dragon-like plume.

“No. You’re much too uptight for my tastes,” he says after he’s caught his breath. “You’d want to _plan_ and _analyze_ and micro-manage the whole experience, which would take all the fun right out of it. I prefer to do my lovemaking a bit more... _organically_.”

Percival chuckles and waves away the proffered blunt. “And yet I’m _still_ not half as uptight as Goldstein here,” he says with predatory laziness, watching a frozen Tina through narrowed eyes. “She’s probably the driest lay of the bunch; you know she doesn’t know how to have fun. Why do you think she spends so much time leaching on to the rest of us? But it’s obvious that _she’s_ the one you wanna fuck.”

The easy conversation around the circle grinds to a halt, every head turning to regard Percival, who is red-faced when he shakes off Seraphina’s calming hand. Tina feels a sudden, embarrassing tremor start in her chest and move to her hands and throat. “Well, I may be a dry lay,” she says with all the dignity she can muster, unwilling to admit just how much his comment had strung, “but at least I don’t have to step on other people to make myself feel big.”

The color drains from Percival’s face all at once, and he ducks his head with a grimace. Tina musters a hurt look just for him before turning her back on them all, pushing through the French doors in search of a secluded place to lick her wounds. There are people everywhere though, and the bass pounding through the speakers only makes her head ache, so she settles on locking herself in the vacant laundry-cum-panic room, inhaling the clean scent of washing powder and starch as she chokes back her tears.

“Tina?” A knock on the door heralds Newt’s arrival, his voice pitched low against the upbeat throb of the music. “Tina, can I come in?”

She grunts in the affirmative before turning the latch, listening to the whispered exchange taking place on the other side of the wood before it eases open. Newt slips inside to close and lock it behind him, leaning against the door to observe her searchingly before crossing the space. She folds against his chest when he gently takes her into his arms, and although her eyes remain dry, she cannot seem to get the shaking in her hands under control.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Newt murmurs into her hair, “and I’m sorry it happened. Theseus set Percival straight before I came to find you, have no fear on that count.” She looks up to find him watching her, a hint of steel lurking in his otherwise mild gaze. “He’ll apologize to you directly, and he’ll _mean_ it, or he’ll never speak to Theseus and me again.”

She straightens a little, just far enough to look him in the eye. “Don’t ruin your friendship on my account,” she says pleadingly. “I couldn’t stand it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Newt murmurs with a hint of his typical good-nature, and peers at her closely before hesitantly leaning in. “Are you alright?” he asks, only to scoff and shake his head ruefully. “That's a stupid question, sorry. Don’t answer it.” Tina holds her breath when he rests their foreheads together, his hands rising to cup her face when he looks down. “Tina, I just want you to know that I—”

“Don’t say it!” she whispers fiercely, wrapping her fingers around his wrists. “If you say it, you’ll ruin the moment and I’ll feel even worse. Just…”

Newt chuckles, little more than a breath of air against her face, and meets her eyes.

“Alright,” he agrees in a whisper.

Tina closes her eyes when he angles his chin just so and kisses her, the weight of his freckled lips little more than the touch of a butterfly's wing. She inhales sharply with the sudden sensory shock of his proximity, the culmination of years of heated daydreams before kissing him back, gradually deepening it into an expression of pure longing while toying with his bowtie.

They part to stare at each other wonderingly, gasping for breath with limbs tangled together.

_“Wow,”_ Tina breathes, touching her tingling lips to Newt’s as his eyes fold into happy wrinkles.

“Indeed,” he agrees and brushes his mouth against hers before reaching for her hand. “Tina, if you are willing, I’d very much like it if you’d spend the night.” He swallows, throat bobbing, and Tina touches his cheek in silent encouragement, a smile pulling at her lips. “With me, I mean.”

She laughs delightedly. “I was beginning to think you’d _never_ get around to asking,” she chortles, only to grow somber when Percival’s cruel words replay in her head. “Are you sure? I know I’m not beautiful like Queenie, and there are a few other people who have their eye on you, even if you pretend not to notice. Are you certain you want to spend the night with...me?”

Newt takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “You’re beautiful like you,” he says softly, “and I have no interest in anyone else. I just want you, Tina.”

She closes her eyes, unable to stand the open, vulnerable way he watches her. “Aren’t you afraid that what Percival said was true, though?” she manages, flinching inwardly when Newt hisses like a pissed off cat.

“Percival _fucking_ Graves is a bloody tosser who should have his mangy _knob_ fed to a rhinoceros for speaking to you so cruelly!” he growls.

Tina bursts into jangling laughter, clamping a hand over her mouth when Newt sends her a wide-eyed, confused look. “No, I’m sorry,” she gasps when his brow wrinkles in consternation. “I just — that’s got to be the single most _British_ thing I’ve ever heard you say!”

“Ah,” Newt murmurs, his bemused expression melting into one of hopeful joy. He reaches for her and she goes eagerly, allowing him to align their profile as she finally, _finally_ gets to push her fingers into his hair, which has the texture of coarse silk. He smiles against her lips before murmuring, “So you’ll stay, then?” and she must remind herself to breathe when he looks at her steadily.

“Yes,” she promises, “I’ll stay,” and reaches for his hand.

*

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by two anonymous prompts on Tumblr, both for college AU Newtina, as well as a request on the Kink Meme for Newt giving Graves a 'shotty' or shotgun. I did my best, though this story still doesn't feel finished to me. I may have to come back and revisit this one at some point down the road... ;)
> 
> Want one fo your own? Come find me on Tumblr [@katiehavok](http://katiehavok.tumblr.com), if that's a thing you do.


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